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woman in the mirror and the writer of such eloquent and heart-felt words. On the other side of the medieval village of Locronan, Yann had just arrived back at the home he shared with his brother Fabrice. His bad mood had followed him home from the restaurant and it showed no sign of dissipating when he heard Fabrice and Martine laughing in the living room. Fabrice obviously brought Martine back home after their dinner date at 1621 and from what Yann could hear of their conversation they were re-capping the incident at the restaurant that was the cause of Yanns bad mood now. Yann wasted no time in venting his mood on his younger brother. He stormed into the living room and spoke in very loud, rapid Breton. "Fuck You!!! The woman was an idiot!!! How dare she embarrass me in front of our staff!" He was irritated to see Fabrices grin growing. Fabrice reached for Martines hand to include her in the conversation his brother tried to exclude her from. He said to her in French, with a grin on his face. Martine, my brother speaks Breton now because he knows you do not, and this is his somewhat misguided way of being a gentleman and sparing you from the fact that he just told me to fornicate with myself. It was a shame he didnt extend to the poor woman in the restaurant tonight the same courtesy he just extended you! Martine smiled and looked across at Yann in quiet amusement. His bad temper evaporated, as it normally did with Yann, but not before he aimed a cushion at his brothers head and settled his lanky frame into the seat opposite. His moods never burned hot for long. He switched to French and said to his brother. "She was a fucking nightmare!! The nerve of her to show me up in front of everyone!" "She did no less than what you tried to do to her, Yann. You should have known you were outclassed the moment she started speaking French. She definitely wasnt a shy tourist fumbling through her French phrase book. Youre just pissed off she wasnt going to let herself be pushed around. Its people like you who give nice Frenchmen like me a bad name!" He grinned. Fabrice turned to Martine. "Did you even pick up an accent from her?" Martine shook her head no. "Neither did I. She spoke French as if shed been raised around the corner. It was flawless. The only thing that gave her away as being a tourist was the fact that she spoke to her friend in English, with a New Zealand accent." "That and the fact she likes her fucking steak burnt!" Yann grumbled. Martine and Fabrice laughed again but quickly stopped when they saw Yann looking for more cushions to throw. "Yann, why did you have to be such a pompous Frenchman anyway? You should have just cooked her steak the way she wanted it." "Fuck off! I had a thousand years of French cuisine to protect!!!" "Dont give me that


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shit! You were only looking to save your own ass and when that didnt work you tried to embarrass her by throwing her ignorance of fine food back in her face. It would have worked too if she didnt come back with... what did she say Martine?" Fabrice squeezed her hand again. Martine cleared her throat in mock seriousness as if she was going to make an important announcement. "I believe it was something like Okay, thats fine. Ill pay for this steak even if the poor cow still has a pulse. Please make it to take away. My dog loves raw meat. And instead Id like to try the poulet roti. Assuming of course I dont have to chase the chicken around the restaurant to get it onto my plate." Martine and Fabrice were laughing so hard the tears flowed from their eyes. Yann had to laugh as well. "Ok, you two, I have to admit: the better person won tonight. Im off to bed. If she comes back to 1621 Ill give her a bottle of our best French Merlot as an apology but hell will freeze over before another dog eats a steak from our restaurant!" CHAPTER TWO Hours later, when Martine had fallen asleep after their lovemaking, Fabrice lay awake staring into the darkness. There was something about this woman in 1621 that really captured him tonight. Of course he had seen her several times before around Locronan. She always had a warm smile for him and over these past weeks he had grown to appreciate it. He had never heard her speak English before tonight and hearing her New Zealand accent reminded him of his wonderful year in New Zealand when he swapped places with a student at Uxbridge College and Connor Blakely became his best friend. Fabrice was 18 and it was his final year at school before starting at Lavillette in Paris Was this the reason she captured him so much tonight? He had to admit it had been many years since he had heard a New Zealand accent. He didnt realise how much he missed it until he heard the soft lilt of her voice. Her smiles, her intellect, her wit; the list of things he loved about her was growing. He sometimes saw sadness in her though and pondered on its possible cause. Her body didnt match her spirit somehow and he wondered if this was the source of her sadness. She was quite blatantly overweight and to Fabrices eyes this took something away from her somehow. But not in the way you would expect in this day and age where so much importance is put on physical beauty. Fabrice couldnt put his finger on it but he sensed she was lost somehow within herself. She must have been about 160cm and at least 20kg overweight but there was something about her physical body that captured Fabrice. Was it her dark hair that fell in waves to her waist? Or perhaps the sharply intelligent eyes that